


Die From A Broken Heart

by skim_milk



Series: The Way It Feels [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Breakup, Heartbreak, Lukanette, Post-breakup, Songfic, lowkey luka salt, luka is ooc, post-lukanette, spin the record
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skim_milk/pseuds/skim_milk
Summary: Marinette deals with the pain of a break-up++++How does he sleep at night?Mama, the nerve of this guyTo leave me so easyAm I gonna be alright?I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hardMama, can you die from a broken heart?
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: The Way It Feels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988785
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27
Collections: Miraculous: Spin The Record Challenge





	Die From A Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, this is hastily edited, but I've been sitting on it for a while and wanted to post it, because what else do we do when we should be studying for exams?
> 
> this is for Noir's spin the record challenge, which I'm writing all out of order bc when do I ever listen to rules?

_ How does he sleep at night?  
Mama, the nerve of this guy  
To leave me so easy  
Am I gonna be alright?  
I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard  
Mama, can you die from a broken heart? _

* * *

Marinette felt like her heart was in her throat as she dialled a number she had thousands of times before. The receiver picked up on the third call.

“Marinette? Hello?” she heard the voice of her mother, half asleep and croaking. “It’s late for you to be calling…”

Marinette paused and looked up to the clock hanging in the kitchen. 10:34 — not too late, but late enough that her baker parents would be tucked into bed and fast asleep.

“Oh,” she said, trying to will the tears to not sound present in her voice. “Oh, I’ll go then.”

“No—” her mother says quickly. “I’m awake, and I want to talk to you,” Marinette remained quiet, and Sabine added, “and I can tell you want to talk too… so I’m here to listen.”

Marinette felt a tear roll down her cheek. She didn’t know what to tell her, how to tell her. “I um,” she sniffed “Luka and I…” but she couldn’t bring it upon herself to say the words.

He had ended it. He, Luka, had ended their three-year relationship. All in favour of what? A new girl? A new adventure? Someone that wasn’t looking to settle down — someone that wanted to keep the party going as much as he did.

And to think, she had thought he was going to propose, that he was ready for that.

She remembered the feeling of putting on her favourite dress, the way it felt against her figure, the soft fabric against her skin. 

The same dress she still stood in now, red wine soaking the front of the baby pink skirt. The splatter was concentrated in the centre, a deep maroon, fading to a dull purple at the edges of the stain. 

She remembered sitting on the kitchen floor, rubbing at the growing stain.  _ Stupid _ . She of all people should have known better than to rub at a wine stain. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing, her body had moved as though it was on auto-pilot, like she wasn’t in control of her actions. She was conscious of what she was doing, but she only became aware of the actions after the matter. 

“Um,” she gulped, conscious of how long she was taking to respond. “I was… wondering how to get out red wine stains?” 

Her mother went silent on the other end of the line, Marinette could envision her eyebrows furrowing the way she had seen them do so many times in the past. Like they had when she was younger. 

Oh to be young again.

“Marinette, you of all people should know—” she heard her mother sigh. “How about I come over tomorrow and I show you?” 

Marinette looked around her, the house was a mess. Luka’s clothes strewn everywhere from when he had hastily packed his things. She would have to clean before her mother arrived in the morning. But cleaning was good. It would give her something to do — something to take her mind off of things. 

“Yeah,” Marinette said. “That sounds good.”

“Marinette—” a hand ran through her hair. “Marinette,” the voice called, gently pulling her from her sleep.

Opening her eyes hurt. The world was bright and her eyelids felt heavy, and she knew that if she looked in a mirror they would be puffy and bloodshot from crying herself to sleep.

“Come on,” the voice said softly, her mother. “Let’s get you up.” 

She hadn’t been expecting her visitor so early, she hadn’t even cleaned up properly last night — instead, having passed out on the couch, still in her wine-stained dress. 

Marinette slowly sat upright, taking note of the dull throb in her head that was usually a sign of dehydration — most likely due to the exhaustive crying session she had had the previous night. 

She looked down at the couch pillow that she had been hugging in her sleep. She had been crushed against it, her cheek pressed hard into it. The cushion that was normally a light grey now marbled with dark streaks and stains — mascara and tears. 

She would have to clean that too.

“Come on,” Sabine said, gently easing Marinette to stand up. Her voice was smooth and sweet, reminding Marinette of the honey that she had mixed into Marinette’s tea when she wasn’t feeling well. The woman herself reminded Marinette of a brick wall — strong and ever standing, a monument of support for Marinette. 

Her mother walked her to the bathroom, turning on the taps in the shower and holding her hand under the water until it ran to the right temperature. Once satisfied, she shook her hand dry, turning to look at Marinette before using her other hand to pull her daughter down to her, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

Sabine released the girl and wordlessly left the bathroom, closing the door behind her, Marinette taking this as a sign to shed her soiled clothing and step under the flowing water.

The shower was always a good place to cry. The water washing away the salty taste of tears, she could almost pretend like she wasn’t crying at all. Somehow she even managed to wash her hair — it was a kind of coping mechanism, a metaphor for washing away anything that troubled her.

But today, the shampoo did nothing. Nor did the body wash she used. 

She wasn't sure how long she had been in the shower, but when she got out she found a pile just inside the door — a towel and fresh clothing.

Getting dressed, Marinette noticed that her mother had carefully selected the outfit — a pair of pink sweats, a baggy black hoodie that had a pink paw print over the chest. Clothes that were hers. Not Luka’s. 

Another sob escaped. 

She found her mother in the kitchen, the kettle whistling as she walked through the door. 

“Good timing,” Sabine said, picking up the appliance and pouring boiling water into two already waiting mugs. 

Part of Marinette knew that her mother had put the kettle to boil when she heard the shower turn off — the coincidence of good timing was merely Sabine’s good judgement of how long it would take the water to boil.

Marinette tried to give her mother a smile, but part of her knew that it was failing. She lowered herself onto one of the seats at the breakfast bar, watching her mother operate. 

Sabine set the kettle down, taking the tea bags from each and dunking them repeatedly. After a few moments of this, she removed the tea bag from one and placed it in the bin, before opening the lid to the squeeze bottle of honey, pouring a good amount into the mug, then mindlessly stirring it while looking at her daughter.

Marinette didn't acknowledge her gaze, eyes never leaving her mother’s hand, stirring back and forth, melting the honey with the boiling water. It was almost hypnotic — back and forth, round and round the pale green mug. 

But it was over all too soon. Sabine taking the teaspoon and tapping it lightly against the rim of the mug, before placing it in the sink. 

The sink was empty, and glancing around the room, Marinette was able to notice what she hadn't when she first walked into the room — Sabine had been cleaning while she showered. 

Marinette wasn’t sure how long she had been in the shower, but apparently, it was long enough to let her mother clean the mess that had been made the night previous. 

She went to open her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by the sound of water flowing from the tap into a mug.

Marinette felt like crying once again. Not because of Luka, but for the bittersweet nostalgia of it all. Black tea with a healthy amount of honey and just a dash of cold water so that it wasn’t too hot. Just like Sabine used to make her when she was young and feeling unwell. 

Now, she was just unwell. 

She wished to go back in time, to stop herself before the pain started. To prevent it all.

Marinette accepted the mug when Sabine offered it to her, taking it in her hands, holding it there, feeding off its warmth. 

She wanted to speak, to tell her mother what had happened, to tell her about her breakup. But the words didn't want to come. 

Sabine lent on the bench and periodically sipped on her tea. “I’m going to get your father to come around later today,” she said. “To fix that front door of yours — it’s not closing properly.”

Marinette only nodded. She half expected for it to have fallen off of its hinges after the way Luka had thrown it open and then slammed it closed last night. “Okay,” she agrees after a few moments and the quiet resumes.

That sullen quietness where neither of the women want to remain but neither of them want to break. The air hangs between the two of them.

Marinette feels the tears welling in her eyes once more, she doesn't try to stop them. “How does he—” her voice breaks and she stops, she takes a deep breath. “How does he sleep at night?” Marinette feels the tears flowing freely now, they roll down her cheeks, some land on her lips — the salty taste bitter on her tongue. “How can he?” her voice is quiet now as she pleads for an answer. An answer she knows her mother cannot provide.

“Oh sweetie,” Sabine consoles. The older woman sets her cup of tea down on the bench and walks around it, while Marinette’s sobs grow more steadily. “Sweetheart,” Sabine's voice is soothing as she gathers her daughter in her arms. 

Her body is warm, but Marinette hardly recognises it, too numb to feel much at all. “He just…” a new wave of sobs wracked her body as Sabine squeezed her tighter against her chest like she had done many moons ago when a little girl — Marinette — had grazed her knee chasing her friends at the park. Her pain then had been so terrible, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt now. “How can he just leave me like that?” she asks. She makes no attempt to wipe her tears, knowing that her mother’s shoulder would be as tear-stained as the pillow she had slept upon last night. “It was so easy,” Marinette says. “For him, it was so easy to leave…” she pulls back and looks her mother in the eye. “Why was it so easy for him?”

Sabine’s sympathetic smile was tear-stained too. “I don't know sweetie, I don't know.”

“How could he?” Marinette questions, a new wave of sobs hitting her, pushing her closer to the edge of insanity. “How could  _ I _ ?” she asks after a while. Sabine raises an eyebrow in confusion. “How could I—” she lifts a hand, using her palm to viciously wipe the moisture from her eyes. “How could I fall for someone like that?”

“No,” Sabine says softly, holding her daughter by her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “Marinette, no.” 

“Why did I?” she pleads. “How much of an idiot was I, to fall—”

“He had the wool pulled over all of our eyes,” Sabine pulled her daughters head back to her bosom, holding her there and rocking side to side, the way she used to when a Marinette would fuss as a child. 

“Maman,” Marinette starts softly. “It hurts, god it hurts so much,” she pulls away from Sabine and holds her hand over her own chest, slightly to the left, over her heart. “Maman, I thought heartbreak was something they said, but it hurts so much.” 

Sabine lifted her own hand, placing it over Marinette’s. 

“Can it kill you, maman? Heartbreak?” 

Sabine felt her own heartbreak at the pain her daughter was feeling, the pain she couldn't save her from. 

“No,” Sabine used her free hand to lift Marinette’s chin, meeting those blue eyes so very alike her own. “No, it just feels like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall liked this. don't forget to check out the [MLB Fanworks Discord server](https://discord.gg/mlfanworks)
> 
> sorry I haven't posted much recently, I've been going through some personal stuff so yeah... but here you are.
> 
> have fun xxx


End file.
